Say Uncle
Bucky hated meeting with government officials.
They were always overly formal and scheming, using words that took him a second to process before he saw their intended meaning. But, here he was, sitting in the waiting room, staring blankly at the receptionist’s hands as she typed madly away at her desktop. As was written in his ‘conditional’ (as Ross, in particular, liked to remind him) acquittal from any aforementioned crimes done with Hydra or since that point. He had to answer the call when asked, and do the job he was given.
Most of the time, it was easy.
They wanted ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ World War Two veteran and war hero. The touted him out to a few charity events, had him do PSAs, and give already written speeches to conventions. But sometimes...the job was less than pleasant.
Especially when Ross was involved.
He usually wanted Bucky to do the jobs no one else wanted to handle. Jobs involving enhanced individuals that couldn’t draw out too much attention. The jobs that made the good ‘up-standing’ Americans involved with S.H.I.E.L.D and the like, squirm and wake up at night screaming.
They didn’t care if Bucky himself woke up, sweat-drenched, metal arm clenched tightly around his own throat.
No, because Bucky was a soldier, he could handle it.
The irony of his position was not lost to him. He had traded one master for another. At least this one let him keep his own apartment with assorted house plants and a window looking over a local park.
“Mr.Barnes? General Ross can see you now.” The receptionist’s sickly sweet voice intoned. Bucky nodded and stood up stiffly, walking to Ross’ familiar office door and opening it quickly, as to not to prolong their meeting more than needed.
“Sergeant. Have a seat.” Ross began talking to Bucky even as he had turned around to close the door. Clearly, Ross wanted the meeting over as quickly as he did. Bucky followed instructions, sitting down in the chair across from Ross. There was a large vintage desk between them, decorating with various wood carvings. Ross’ office itself looked like a tasteful shrine to himself, toting medals and photographs with famous and influential people he had met. There was even a framed copy of the Accords to the right of his massive window, as a glaring reminder to all those who had tried to stand against him.
Stood against him and won. Bucky thought to himself, readjusting his posture.
“What do you want?” He asked, his voice betraying both his disinterest in potential pleasantries and cautious apprehension at his possible task.
“Haven’t you heard? Stark’s puppy has broken off its leash. Gone rabid.” Ross said, a vindictive smile ghosting across his lips. “And mind your tone, James. You may not officially be in the army anymore, but I am your superior officer.”
“Yes sir.” Bucky grit out, trying to assuage his argumentative tone. “But, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Spiderman? Peter Parker? New York’s little scrappy-go-lucky vigilante? He’s gone and killed someone high profile. Publically. Something you know a little about.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Without Stark here to protect him, he’s ours. We can finally take him in.”
“You do realize...that he’s just a kid right? From what I know, he doesn’t kill anyone. You sure this intelligence is right?” Bucky’s interactions with Spiderman had been fast and fleeting. They had fought in Germany, and though the kid packed a mean right hook, Bucky doubted that he was capable of killing anyone. He doubted Stark would’ve liked the kid so much if he was. Roughing them up a bit, sure, for the right cause, but not cold-blooded murder.
“It was broadcasted all over New York. All the billboards, advertising, whatever. So it doesn’t matter if the intel is correct or not. We have a chance to bring him in. Doesn’t matter if he’s a kid or not. Legally, the second he was enhanced, he lost all rights to trial, processing, the whole nine yards.”
Bucky always forgot how much he despised Ross until the man opened his mouth.
“And I suppose...you want me to take him to the Raft. A teenager.” Bucky said, through gritted teeth.
“And you’re gonna do it. Per your legal contract with the United States Government, or end up there yourself.”
“Damnit, Ross, I’m not your personal bounty hunter. Go send in your army to go get the kid if you want him so bad.”
“You’re whatever I say you are. He expects an army, he won’t expect a friend.”
Bucky stops and gives Ross a hard, frightened look.
“I’m not his fucking friend. I hardly know the kid.”
“Well, then pretend. You’re a spy-"
“Not a spy,” Bucky said quickly, in-taking sharply. “Not anymore.”
“Well, whatever you are, you’re going to get me Spiderman. Preferably already locked in a little cage, all ready for transport to the Raft.”
Bucky said nothing, his jaw locked as he looked obstinately out the window.
“Captain America...Sam Wilson. He’s making quite the stir. And yet, he’s conveniently avoided the US government, much like his predecessor. I can change that.” Ross drawled slowly, relishing in the fact that the second he said Captain America, Bucky was all his.
“Don’t touch him, you asshole,” Bucky growled, but the tension in his shoulders was dropping, a sign of his reluctant submission. “Leave him alone.”
“Why should I? If you violate our contract, I can violate my end as well.” Bucky sighed harshly, running a hand through his hair.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Extraction and ready for transport. That’s it.” There was a cold seeping into Bucky’s spine, his morality protesting against his words.
“Excellent. Everything you need will be on this flash drive.” And like the evil archetype of a man he was, Ross slowly slid a small black flash drive across the table. Bucky snatched it and put it in his pocket.
“Deadline?”
“Soon.”
“Vague.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Bucky stood up, and walked stiffly out of Ross’ office, ignoring the soft ‘goodbye’ of his secretary. He needed to be anywhere but there.
What would Steve do?
Steve wasn’t born with a silver tongue. He couldn’t’ve talked his way out of that. He would’ve probably punched Ross and gone and protected the kid himself. He’d found a way to make sure everyone was safe and that the bad guys were defeated.
But Bucky was the bad guy. He hadn’t been a hero for a long time. Heroism didn’t suit him in the way it fit Steve like a glove, the way Sam could zip himself up in it like it was a second skin. Sometimes, in the darkest reaches of his mind, he almost missed no being able to feel anything. Because feeling made things a lot harder. And he knew that it didn't take much at all for Ross to convince him to capture the boy. Bucky was always going to make the wrong decision. Anxiety welled up in waves, crashing over his nervous system like an echoing fog horn.
What would Steve do?
Bucky was alone. And he had a friend to protect. Or a quasi-friend. He wasn't sure if Sam Wilson would ever be a friend, but he was a person who Steve had trusted and so, Bucky like the dutiful friend he was, was going to make sure that Wilson didn't have to deal with the full assholery of Thaddeus Ross and the US armed forces. Besides, maybe being the US government's lapdog was his penance for a lifetime irreversible trauma he inflicted on so many lives. Bucky wasn’t good at doing the wrong thing for the right reason. He didn’t prescribe morality to a job. Or at least, he was trying to.
Maybe, that’s the Spiderkid that he was doing.
Maybe that’s why he supposedly ‘killed’ someone on national television or something.
He remembered seeing him during the fight against Thanos, how he zipped around the battlefield, plucky and encouraging, making sure everyone who went flying, was picked up safely. He saw the boy’s vulnerability at Stark’s funeral. The way he had collapsed into himself, sobbing quietly, as his shoulders shook, relying on no one for comfort but himself.
And now, Bucky was going to help send that kid hell.
He doubted that the Spiderman he had witnessed would ever do something evil of his own volition. There was another side to the story, there always was. But Bucky, once again, was left with half the book and an ultimatum. Sam would probably tell him to forget about it and protect the boy, but this wasn’t about Sam, not really.
The shield was Steve’s legacy.
Whether the man would admit it or not, and he would not let Ross, the one man who Steve had despised, get his hands on it.
That shield was all he had left of that scrawny boy from Brooklyn who became something bigger than himself, who decided to go and the happy ending the world decided to keep from him.
Who left Bucky behind to do so.
And Bucky’d protect that little fucker for as long as he could. And if he got his hands dirtier for it, then he’d figure it out.
What would Steve do?
It didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t here.